


Ain't no Rush

by MercuryWells



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cabaret, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Some liberties taken with interpersonal dynamics, Still in Hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryWells/pseuds/MercuryWells
Summary: Welcome to The Devil’s in the Coattails, one of Hell’s premiere cabaret clubs! Listen to the murderous monologues of the emcee Alastor; watch the salacious styles of the headline act Angel Dust; wind down with the cool concoctions of the rarely sober bartender Husk. Run by co-owners Charlie and Vaggie, there’s guaranteed to be an act to satisfy every demon’s taste. So pull up a chair (try the splash zone if you're feeling adventurous!), order a beverage, and enjoy the show!Alastor and Husk have been coworkers at the club for a couple decades, but after a chance encounter, Alastor takes increasing interest in Husk. Husk is not sure how he feels about that. Wait. Scratch that. He feels nonplussed. Nonplussed is how he feels, if a bit curious. After all, the radio demon is nothing like what the stories would have you believe.
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Husk & Vaggie
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	1. The Spirit of Radio / Roll the Bones

# ⛧1⛧

# The Spirit of Radio

Alastor sat in front of the vanity in his private dressing room. Paul Whiteman’s rendition of  _ Way Down in Yonder New Orleans _ played on a replica RCA Radiola 60; the original model had been one of his most prized possessions in life. He examined his make-up, turning his face left and right and gave his most winning grin. Everything had to be perfect. The show tonight was a very special one. It was the night after an extermination, and there would be plenty of patrons visiting  _ The Devil’s in the Coattails _ cabaret club looking to forget the trauma and terror of the previous day. While the petty turf wars raged outside, this iniquitous den would serve as a haven for those not interested in getting involved.

Finding no fault with his appearance, Alastor stood up, placed his monocle just so, and summoned his trademark microphone and stand. The opening act was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes so it was time to make his way to the stage to introduce the night’s delights. And what a show it was going to be! The majority of the regular performers at the club managed to survive the extermination, which was always a good sign. There were also a couple new acts that were quite promising.

The demonic emcee walked out into the hallway. Crew hustled to and fro, all keeping a wide berth from the radio demon. Strutting through the common dressing room, Alastor listened in to the gossip traded between the various performers. As always he was reminded how much longer he had been in the game than most. The newer demons were expressing their anxiety over the last day’s events and the upcoming performances. But when you’ve been around as long as Alastor had been, you learned how to weather the storm without much worry.

Alastor hustled down the stairs to the backstage, his shoes clacking rhythmically against the wood steps. A stage hand holding a clipboard rushed to him and presented a paper.

“The revised lineup,” the stage hand said with clipped efficiency.

“Thank you, my good chap!” Alastor reviewed and quickly memorized the performances for the night, rearranging his planned introductions in his head and already devising new ones where necessary. He handed the paper back before walking to the edge of the closed velvet stage curtain. Alastor could hear the low wave of sound that was a few dozen conversing voices. The background noise brought to his mind the image of a gently rolling river. Of blood. Because that was just how his imagination worked.

Alastor snuck a subtle peek at the guests. Sure enough, it was going to be a full crowd tonight. It was a good thing that Hell did not have occupancy restrictions on buildings (no point in practicing fire safety in Hell, after all) because  _ The Devil’s in the Coattails _ would have surely broken them several times over. Tonight’s crowd was probably going to outdo last year’s.

It was a marvel that this club had made it as far as it had. Remaining not just relevant, but merely alive for all of five decades in all the chaos and turmoil that was life in Hell was an achievement in and of itself. The thought that this establishment would one day rival the likes of  _ Valentino’s _ and  _ Vox Temptationem _ would have been met with derision and ridicule at the club’s founding. But somehow co-owners Charlie Magne and Vaggie managed to pull  _ The Devil’s in the Coattails _ through times good and ill through sheer force of will. To be fair, Charlie’s political connections and Vaggie’s immaculate business acumen also helped a fair amount.

“Ten minutes to showtime!” A voice called out from upstairs. Alastor ambled to the center of the stage, running his lines through his head as he waited for the curtain to open.

“Ready to knock ‘em dead?” Charlie asked, materializing at his side. She was an expert at moving around the joint unnoticed. It was a source of constant irritation for Angel Dust and Husk. By now Alastor was too used to her surprise appearances to be startled and took it all in stride.

“Oh absolutely, my dear!” Alastor widened his smile. “I must say that tonight will be a show to positively  _ die _ for!”

Charlie smiled brightly at him. “That’s what I like to hear!” She brushed the shoulders of his suit, even though they both knew Alastor was too particular about his appearance to let any dust accumulate on his person.

Charlie was perhaps the only being in all of Hell that he ever let initiate physical contact with him. That she could do so, even so casually, spoke to the bond forged between them over many years of keeping the club in business. It didn’t hurt that she was one of the few demons level-headed enough to be tolerable, enough to even become something of a confidant.

“How is Ole Cross Eye doing?” Alastor asked, all false innocence.

“Al,” Charlie admonished, “You know Vaggie hates it when you call her that.” She stared into his eyes for a moment. Alistor was unsure what she was hoping to find. It certainly wasn’t recalcitrance. She knew him better than that. “You’re not planning on antagonizing her as part of your set, are you? I don’t need a fight in the middle of the show.”

“Aww, but think of the audience. They would go absolutely wild if the esteemed Vaggie herself went off the track. It would be so  _ entertaining _ . We’d be the talk of the town!”

“Now now. We’re doing just fine as it is. Besides, there will be more than enough violence without that. The Severed Sisters will be performing tonight, after all.”

“I suppose I could keep things to the usual level of civility,” Alastor acquiesced. He turned to Charlie, but she was already gone, presumably to the box seats where she and Ole Cross Eye would watch over the proceedings.

Off to his right the stage manager gave Alastor the hand signal to start. He took a final, deep breath as he mentally crossed over into emcee mode. Letting all other concerns fade into the background, he waved his microphone and the sound of a big band fanfare could be heard playing from the speakers on the other side of the curtain. While the curtains opened the noise of the crowd crescendoed with clapping, cheering, whooping, and even a few whistles.

Gazing into the amorphous darkness beyond the bright stage lighting, Alastor took a few jaunty steps forward. “Good evening and welcome, loathsomes and ungentlefolks! Fellow sinners! Demon brethren! By Lucifer do we have a show for you!” Alastor ran his microphone between his legs. “Are you ready for depravity and mayhem?” The crowd cheered.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Alastor purred as he mimed fellating his mic to a few hoots. “After all, why are we here if not to celebrate our wicked ways?”

Of course, to Alastor this persona was all an act. One of his most closely guarded secrets, known only to Charlie, Vaggie, Niffty, Mimzy, and maybe Husk if he was observant enough, was his asexuality. The displays he put on were purely for the gratification of his audience. But he was nothing if not a professional. In death as in life, he got by using his ability to mold his personality to whatever shape it needed to be to appease whoever he was dealing with. He found it was always best to let people see in you what they wanted to see.

“But enough with the pleasantries! You’re here for the show! So, without further ado, allow me to introduce to you our very own Mimmmmmmmm-zy!” Alastor theatrically gestured to where Mimzy walked on stage to raucous applause.

# Roll the Bones

Only under extreme duress would Husk admit that he actually liked working at  _ The Devil’s in the Coattails _ . The hours were sane. The owners were too, somehow, even after handling all the pressures of running a business (in Hell, no less) and dealing with the employees, many of who were off their rockers. Not that Husk was in a position to judge. He might not stir as much shit up as Angel Dust or the radio demon, but he could acknowledge that his prickly demeanor didn’t make it any easier to manage him.

An additional benefit: he was allowed to, um, “partake in the goods” even as he was selling them to the customers. Ah, fuck it. Who was he kidding? Charlie and Vaggie didn’t care if he got a little boozed up on the job, and that alone made it at least bearable. Even if bartending did mean he was expected to interact with the patrons. And occasionally bear witness to the drama barely concealed behind the scenes at the club.

All in all, not entirely a raw deal. Tonight just happened to be more aggravating than most. It was the night after an extermination. The crowd was larger and louder than the usual. More than a few demons walked up to the bar expecting Husk to console them. Too bad for them. Therapy was not a service he provided and, to be fair, he was the last person who should be sought for such services.

Husk watched the proceedings on the stage out of the corner of his eye as he poured a few shots for some excitable demons he assumed were new. He figured that this was their first extermination. Odds were they weren’t going to be around same time next year, so he tried not to begrudge them their excessive energy.

Angel Dust was performing a song and dance routine to some modern sounding song Husk had never heard before. Something about a shiny someone or other. The bartending demon scowled as Angel Dust ripped off a jacket, revealing that he had covered his bare skin and fur in sequins and glitter. The audience was absolutely eating it up, cheering and wolf whistling as Angel Dust paraded himself around the stage like the little slut he was.

Seeing that all of the patrons at the bar were otherwise occupied, Husk reached under the bar for the bottle of whiskey he kept for himself and took a generous gulp. He couldn’t wait for the night to be over so he could get properly shitfaced and gamble away his earnings. It was normal for him to feel melancholic this time of year. Memories of the few friends he had and lost over the years constantly threatened to come to the fore of his mind, and only copious amounts of alcohol and cardslinging could keep them at bay.

Honestly, he didn’t understand how everyone else did it. Put on a brave face. Pretend they weren’t crumbling the weight of all this misery. Or maybe it was just him. He knew he was broken. Wasn’t no fooling anyone about that.

Earlier that day Husk had given serious consideration to not showing up to work. Sure, Charlie would act all disappointed in that way that never failed to get under Husk’s skin. And Vaggie would needle him with questions later, concerned for his well being. And Angel Dust would surely make fun of him, or worse, make some lewd comment about how he might help cheer Husk up. And Alastor. The worst of them all. The only god damned one that seemed to see him as he truly was. He’d give Husk this sad, knowing look -even as he fucking grinned- and simply not say anything.

But Husk needed a reason to get out of bed. Needed the routine. It helped keep him grounded. Made him feel real. Well, as real as hell could ever feel. Fuck, he was getting philosophical. He took another gulp of his whiskey.

He watched as Alastor came onstage to announce the next act: the Severed Sisters. They were always a fun watch, even if Husk had watched them tear each other apart limb by limb several hundred times by this point. The regulars loved them, especially the die hards that made a beeline for the splash zone when they entered the establishment (just don’t tell them that most of the blood wasn’t even real.) There were a few acts that followed, but none that really caught his attention as he tried to balance his brooding with his need to be functional at his job.

At the end of the night, after wiping down the bar and killing his whiskey bottle, Husk headed over to  _ Seventh Circle _ , his casino de jour. His time spent there was a blur, but he must have done well. He could swear that when he left the casino that his pockets felt heavier than when he entered.

Husk whistled as he zigzagged jauntily down the street, his cares pushed back behind the pleasant haze that had descended over his consciousness. Just when he thought things were coming up aces for himself, right about the time that a ten foot long robotic leg came within inches of skewering him where he stood, he realized with sobering horror that he had unwittingly stumbled into a turf war. Fuck his life.


	2. Grand Designs / Distant Early Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor saves Husks life. Husk isn't exactly grateful.
> 
> In the words of GLaDOS: "Look, we've both said some things you're going to regret."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no post :)
> 
> Never fear, this fic is not getting abandoned!

# ⛧2⛧

# Grand Designs

The show had been an absolute barn-burner! The excitement of the crowd was palpable as they slowly and with great reluctance made their exit into the doom and gloom of the daily grind that was life in Hell. Alastor was feeling rather pleased. He couldn’t remember being in such high spirits in a long time.

Were he anywhere but in the company of the performers and crew of the club he would take extra caution to school himself so as not to give away his good humor. After all, he had a reputation to uphold as one of the most dangerous demons to cross. 

There was a time, yes, when he reveled in all the ultra-violent debauchery that Hell afforded a promising upstart demon like himself. And oh how he marveled as his power and reputation grew to almost mythic proportions. But that had also led to fight after fight as demon after demon tried to challenge his status in the infernal hierarchy. He had ultimately grown tired of the routine of putting his inferiors in their place and “retired” to a quiet life working for Charlie and Vaggie.

Still, he couldn't let every Average Joe know that he was getting soft in his “old age.” He still had powerful enemies from back in the good old days.

After finishing his post-performance undressing routine Alastor headed to the bar where the regular employees would gather to shoot the breeze. As he took a seat on one of the barstools he made a note of Husker’s absence. Not that it was totally unexpected. Husker only occasionally stuck around after his duties had been fulfilled, and even when he did it wasn’t like the two of them interacted much. Alastor and Husker were like water and oil in that way.

And so were he and Vaggie, for that matter, who was presently giving Alastor the evil-eye as she listened to Charlie, who was turned away from Alastor, talk business. Now what had he done to upset her? Probably simply exist, if he had to make a guess. He’d done what Charlie had asked and left Vaggie out of his monologues. He was being quite magnanimous that night, _if you asked him_.

Of course, seeing her like this made it all the more tempting to set her off. So he gave her the most shit-eating grin he could muster from behind Charlie’s back. True to form, she crossed her arms and huffed, but didn’t say anything. Alastor hastily returned to his normal grin as Charlie turned around to look at the source of Vaggie’s consternation.

“Oh! Hello Alastor,” Charlie said. She looked from Vaggie back to Alastor and sighed. “I suppose it would be too much to ask the two of you to get along, just for tonight?”

“Nonsense!” Alastor did his best to assure her. “For you, I would do anything, even if it meant making a truce. With the _enemy_ ,” he said the last word in a mocking tone, looking directly in challenge at Vaggie.

“Very cute, _Ally_ ,” Vaggie retorted. “Don’t forget that I know where you live,” she said with a demonic grin of her own.

“Coming from you, that seems a rather hollow threat, my dear.”

“Feeling confident are we?” Vaggie said, her eye turning black and her teeth sharpening.

Charlie threw her hands up in the air. “Just one night!” she opined. “One night is all that I ask for!”

Alastor watched as Charlie turned to him. Oh, crackers. He knew that look. It was the look of _“I have a favor to ask of you, and because we are such close friends and have been through so much together, we both know you won’t refuse me_. _”_

“Actually, Alastor, there is something you can do for me,” she said. Alastor braced himself. “Husk seemed to be a lot more down than usual tonight. Alastor, I was hoping you might go check up on him? Make sure he’s going to be okay?”

“Well, there was just the whole—” Alastor waved his hand at the ceiling, bringing attention to the recent extermination “—thing,” he finished, trying to explain away Husker’s behavior. Charlie didn’t look convinced. _Damn it!_ He was fighting a losing battle. He could feel it.

“Even accounting for that he seems to be worse than I’d expect of him,” Charlie said.

And then she was giving him the smile of unbounded optimism. That smile which suggested that any problem, no matter how seemingly insurmountable, could be solved with the power of friendship. Alastor felt himself internally wilting at the thought. He might have gone soft, but he certainly wasn’t in the mood to make any more attachments than he already had.

“Why don’t you send Vaggie?” he asked, trying for misdirection. “She actually seems to get along just fine with his morose malarkey.”

“That is true,” Charlie conceded. “But. You _are_ better at lending an ear to those who need it.”

Vaggie scoffed. Charlie took her hand and said, “I love you, chérie, but you’re not the most patient person.” Vaggie muttered something under her breath that made Charlie chuckle. 

_And damn it all!_ Charlie was probably right. Alastor hated that she knew that about him. And that she was not above using this knowledge against him. He could feel his resolve eroding by the second. He looked at Charlie. What was her game? Was there something deeper behind this request? Whatever it might be, he couldn’t see it.

“Fine. I’ll see to it, my dear. But don’t expect to cash in any additional favors any time soon,” he said, getting up to leave. Might as well get this over with.

“You’re the best, Al,” Charlie said, to which Ole Cross Eye gave a staccato, “Ha!”

“And don’t you forget it,” Alastor told Charlie, allowing a hint of static to come through his voice. Just enough to be playful. He would never seriously challenge Charlie’s authority.

He was about to leave when it occurred to him that he didn’t know where to find the cat demon. Hmmm. That was probably important information. “By the way, where would _dear_ _Husker_ be this time of night?”

“I think I heard him say he was heading to the casino district,” Charlie said. “You might try in that direction.”

She drew a crude map on a napkin. There was the club, the casino district, and Husker’s current residence. Alastor felt an inconvenient pang when he recognized that Husker was living in what could only be described as the slummiest of slums. No wonder the cat demon’s outlook was always so bleak. _Well, screw him!_ Sinners didn’t get to be choosers. There was absolutely no chance that Alastor was going to spare him any feelings.

Alastor walked out the entrance into the muggy night. It was going to be alright. He would find Husker, spend a few minutes getting a read on him, then be free to never give the cat demon another thought.

Humming an old musical number, he sauntered down the sidewalk in the direction of the casino district. He smiled as every now and then, a demon hapless enough to be walking towards him crossed to the other side of the street, their eyes wide with fear. Good. Their fear kept them at (several) arm's length, which was just how Alastor liked it.

It wasn’t more than ten minutes before Alastor heard a commotion coming from a side street. A turf war no doubt. He considered for a moment, cocking his head to the side. Observing it from a safe vantage point might prove entertaining. No doubt Husker could wait a few minutes.

With a _bzzzt!_ he teleported up to the top of a billboard which stood on the roof of a parking garage. He sat down with his legs crossed and his head in his hand. The action below was your standard turf war affair. A dozen shorter pillbug-like demons with cigars in their mouths were shooting tommy guns at a more varied group of buff looking ruffians.

One of the ruffians threw a grenade at the pillbugs, which exploded into a shower of green acid. Several of the pillbugs screamed and rolled around on the pavement as their exoskeletons were eaten away. Alastor laughed and clapped his hands.

He remembered his first turf war. It was him against a veritable army of more experienced demons. Of course, he took them out single-handed thereby cementing his reputation as someone not to be trifled with. He was of half a mind to join the fun below, if only to relive such pleasant memories.

Alastor was just musing how if Husker was up here with him, the grumpy cat would probably be taking bets on which side would win, when he noticed said cat demon was cowering behind a street bench between the two warring factions.

Well, that made things easier for Alastor. It also made things more difficult, because the poor cat demon was in danger, and Alastor was quite certain that letting Husker be harmed went explicitly against Charlie’s wishes. Oh dear, looks like his mind on whether or not to join the turf war was made up for him.

Alastor summoned his microphone and teleported down to the middle of the street. It took a few seconds, but the fighting subsided as the combatants registered what had just happened. Alastor turned in a full circle, extending his arms outward in dramatic fashion.

He pulled his mic close and said, “Well, well, well. What do we have here.” His voice broadcasted throughout the street with its distinguishing classic radio fuzziness. “It looks like quite the show.”

“Is that who I think it is?” one of the riffians asked his companions, who responded with a, “Fuck me, I think it is.”

“So sorry to interrupt tonight’s performance,” Alastor said into the mic. “It really is encore worthy. But do you think you could reconvene tomorrow?”

“Why?” one of the pillbugs asked, spitting out his cigar. “What’s it to ya?”

Alastor grinned widely at the pillbug. “Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?” he asked back, allowing static to infuse his voice. The air around him started to shiver and buzz ominously.

“Fuck this,” the pillbug said, and turned around and walked off. “If Valentino wants this territory so bad he can wait another day.”

The other pillbugs followed suit, grumbling their displeasure. Alastor turned to the ruffians, who also backed off. Good. That went smoother than it could have.

“Alastor? What the fuck are you doing here?” an incredulous Husker asked, his head barely peeking above the bench he was hiding behind.

“I heard through the grapevine that you might be in need of a friend for the night,” Alastor said.

“A friend? You? Are you shitting me?” Husker said.

“Now that is just rude,” Alastor sniffed.

“You couldn’t make a friend to save your rotten life.”

Alastor did not appreciate Husker’s tone. “I have Charlie,” he said petulantly. And _holy hell_ how was the cat demon getting under his skin such that he was saying things _petulantly_. He felt like he was reverting to childhood.

“Pffft. The only one you’ve had in what? A hundred years?”

“I’m not _that_ old, Husker.”

“God _damn it_ that’s not my name,” Husker yelled as he stood upright, still keeping the bench between the two of them.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, my dear _Husk_ ,” Alastor said in a dangerous tone. He could see his vision starting to go red as infernal symbols flashed before his eyes. He took a calming breath. “Besides, I don’t exactly see you surrounded by friends either.”

“Difference is because I choose not to. You just can’t, even if you tried,” Husker challenged.

 _Challenge accepted_. If that’s how Husker felt, then Alastor would prove to him just how swell a friend he could be. He was going to be the best friend Husker ever had, in life or in unlife. Just he wait. Never challenge an overlord and expect them to back down!

“We’ll see about that,” Alastor said. “Anyway, it looks like you are doing just fine. I’ve done my good deed for the day–”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” Husker growled.

“–and I’ll see you around.” Alastor gave a flourish and a bow. He teleported to his apartment amidst a cursing tirade provided by the cat demon.

# Distant Early Warning

Husk was on edge. And not because of the usual reasons. No. On top of the many problems that were already making his life complete misery he just had to have caught the attention of one Alastor, newest bane of his existence and absolute menace.

Ever since the night Alastor had saved his life, which Husk might have appreciated if he had any real will to live, the radio demon had taken to striking up a conversation here or there, even suggesting they grab dinner and drinks at some point. Husk declined, only to be asked again the next week. _Take a fucking hint, Alastor!_

Occasionally Husk would be walking around an area of the city that Alastor had no business being in, only to see him waving from across the street, or from a cafe table, or a shop window. It was seriously off-putting. Husk would always respond by growling and flipping the radio demon off, but Alastor unfortunately did not seem to be deterred.

Even worse was the physical affection, if that is what it was. Husk would call it harassment. There were the incessant side hugs. The pats on the head. The rare sensation of a hand against his wing that made his skin crawl. Every time Alastor leaned into Husk’s space, that goddamn grin taking up his field of vision, he wanted to punch his fucking lights out. He would too, if he weren’t so afraid of the consequences.

This was just his fucking luck. He did _not_ need to know how the radio demon had no concept of personal space. He did _not_ need to know just how nosy a bastard said demon could be. He did _not_ need to know that when Alastor decided someone was important to him, he became very protective, even inconveniently so. In short, he abso-fucking-lutely did _not_ need to know what it was like to be Alastor’s friend.

 _Friend_. Just the thought had Husk fighting the urge to throw up in his mouth.

“Bleh,” he said as he opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out, hoping to expel his inner demons _(make any comment on that pun and Husk will gut you.)_

“What’s that?” Charlie asked as she appeared out of nowhere at the bar.

“Fucking Christ!” Husk shouted _(he did NOT squeal, fuck you!)_ as he jumped a good three feet in the air, his wings and tail puffing out automatically. Normally he was good about not getting into his own head too much while he was at the club. But these circumstances were anything but normal. He glared at his boss as he got back to wiping down the bar, readying it for the opening of the club in half an hour.

“Sorry hun,” Charlie said, stifling a giggle. Her large doe eyes stared into Husk’s, who shrank back. He didn’t need any of her psychoanalysis bullshit at the moment. Or at any time. But particularly not now.

“Stop it!” he hissed, hiding his face behind a mug of beer he had been slowly nursing. He wasn’t sure if her uncanny ability to see into a demon’s innermost thoughts required direct eye contact, but he sure as shit wasn’t about to chance it.

When there was no reply forthcoming he lowered his beer. He instantly regretted it. Charlie was sitting at the bar with her head in her hands, giving him this contented smile that gave him the creeps. Not like Alastor creeps, but it still weirded him out. What the fuck reason did she have to smile at him?

Husk narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

“You seem happy,” Charlie said, looking up at him.

“Absolutely not,” Husk said reflexively.

“You do!” Charlie’s smile widened.

“Fuck you with a cactus!” Husk spat.

“Oh dear me, such foul language from our resident sourpuss,” a supremely grating voice crackled from his left. He turned to see Alastor walking up to the bar. The radio demon flopped down heavily on a stool and there was a brief sound of feedback that made Husk flinch. The fucking bastard probably did it on purpose.

“Don’t you need to get ready for the show?” Husk demanded, wishing he were anywhere but here.

“Oh! Already done! What do you think?” Alastor asked. He turned his painted face from side to side, gesturing at it with a hand.

“You look like a whore,” Husk bit out. Then stood still as he felt freezing terror spread through his veins when he realized what words he’d just said, and more importantly, who he’d said them to. Charlie, he was allowed to talk back to. But Alastor?

Alastor’s grin widened, but interestingly not in a way that suggested that Husk was about to become dinner. No, the radio demon appeared amused more than anything else. Husk found it intolerable that he could tell the difference.

 _What the fuck even is my life?_ Husk mused as he stared at the ceiling. He let out a defeated sigh. “What are you doing here Alastor?” he asked, trying for a little more tact.

It was a valid question. In the past, Alastor had never made a point to visit the bar before a show, usually too preoccupied with preparing his set for the night.

“Why, my dear Husker, I work here,” the radio demon said unhelpfully, his smile growing playful.

 _Gross._ “I meant at the bar, asshole,” Husk said.

“I wanted to see you before I took to the stage. Can’t a demon spend a few minutes catching up with a colleague? Nothing wrong with that.”

Great. He was essentially a captive audience. He glanced at Charlie, who was looking between the two of them intently. Suddenly he felt like some grade schooler’s science fair project.

“Well you saw me, so feel free to go back to rehearsing,” Husk said.

“All in good time. I was wondering if you had any plans after the show?” Alastor asked.

“This again? I told you last time, and the time before that: I’m not interested,” Husk growled.

“Aw, give him a chance,” Charlie jumped in.

Husk turned to her, putting on a look of obvious disdain for her benefit. “No,” he said flatly.

Charlie pouted. “C’mon hun. You really have no idea how fun a drinking companion he can be.” She shared a look with Alastor. “We had some truly wild times in the old days, didn’t we?”

Alastor grinned at her. “Well, I’m not as young a demon as I once was, but I think I could keep up with Husker here.”

Husk gritted his teeth. “Fine! I’ll go! But for the record, it’s no fucking fair the two of you ganging up on me like that.”

“Great!” Alastor said cheerfully as he hopped off his stool. “I’ll meet you here after the show. And don’t let me catch you sneaking off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Husk waved him away.

As the radio demon walked jauntily to the door that led to the backstage Husk pointed a claw at Charlie. “This is your fault,” he accused.

“I suppose it is,” Charlie responded with absolutely no remorse in her voice.

“Why are you encouraging him?”

“No reason…”

“Liar!”

The conversation was interrupted by Vaggie walking up next to Charlie and saying, “We need to go over the numbers again.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Right this moment?”

“Yes, right this moment.” Vaggie frowned. “I think one of our suppliers is trying to pull one over on us.”

“Well that simply won’t do,” Charlie said. She hooked her arm in Vaggie’s before giving her a peck on the cheek and walking them off to their office.

Husk wrinkled his nose at the display. He didn’t like being reminded of his terminally nonexistent love life. Not that he wanted one. The idea of being romantic with another demon made him want to hurl. Partly because he had given up on love, and partly because he had never met another demon he found tolerable enough to even try it with.

The entirety of the show was spent in a state of increasing dread. The more that Husk thought about it, the more he realized he had agreed to a night on the town with _the_ Radio Demon. The cannibal who had wrought terror upon the denizens of Hell for decades. Who had treated even other overlords as his playthings. Shit, he was hosed, wasn’t he? His stomach tied in knots as he slung beverage after beverage to his patrons at the bar. And if he drank more on the job tonight than average, could ya blame the guy?

By the time the show ended to roaring applause Husk was sick with nerves. Time seemed to zip forward and stand still at the same time. He would give an arm and a leg for the ability to teleport out of there. With trembling hands he finished cleaning up the bar. Then, there was nothing to do but wait.

“Oh dear Husker, are you not feeling well?” Alastor asked as he approached. His eyebrows were turned up in such a way that suggested he was wearing a look of concern on his face, despite the ever-present smile.

“Doin’ just peachy,” Husk lied.

“Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Husk grumbled.

“If you say so.” Alastor paused, looking Husk up and down. “We could call a rain check for tonight,” he offered.

And that was uncharacteristically thoughtful of the radio demon. Husk knew he should take the out. He really should. It would be so easy. So convenient. But a part of him was afraid that that would only make things worse down the line. He gathered what little courage he had.

“No need,” Husk said, walking out from behind the bar. “Let’s just get this over with.”


End file.
